The Darkest Road
by CycloneT
Summary: Monica wakes up in an AU...but how did she get there, what's happening back home, and will she even want to leave? [DoggettReyes]
1. Home?

Title: The Darkest Road  
Author: Tracy  
Category: AU/DRR  
Rating: PG  
Notes: Takes place sometime in S9, before 'The Truth', but after 'William'.   
  
XxX  
  
"Hands where I can see them Mr. Lindridge." Monica Reyes ordered, as she advanced slowly upon the suspect with her gun raised.  
  
Geoffrey Lindridge turned around and faced her, his smooth face showing none of the usual foreboding one might expect when confronted with an armed FBI agent. "There's no need for force, Ms. Reyes. As you can see I am quite unarmed."   
  
"Hands up." Monica repeated briskly, keeping firmly in her mind the image of this man rendering another unconscious with no more than a touch of his hand. He obeyed with a shrug of his shoulders and a resigned smile, and raised them into the air peacefully.   
  
"What are you arresting me for?" he asked curiously.  
  
Monica kept her gun aimed at him with the practiced ease of years of training and motioned for him to turn around and start walking.  
  
"How about assault, for starters." She kept her attention focused on this new tenant, who had moments before caused one of her neighbours to slump to the floor in a dead faint and another one to go into hysterics, and directed him to her open apartment door. "Inside."  
  
He stepped inside the apartment and watched as she walked cautiously to the phone, her eyes never leaving him the whole time. She picked up the receiver and dialled with one hand, and he heard her state her name and badge number, followed by her address and the details of her predicament. She also requested an ambulance for the man lying oblivious in the hallway, who was being watched over by the slightly less hysterical neighbour.   
  
He sighed heavily. "You're only wasting valuable resources by calling an ambulance. He won't wake up."  
  
"What did you do to him?"  
  
"I saved him."  
  
"You saved him?" She asked sceptically.  
  
"Yes."  
"From what?"  
  
"From…everything. From the bleakness that is his life. From the emptiness that consumes him, that eats at his heart day after day. I saved him from himself, and he's at peace now."  
  
"Peace? He's unconscious – I'd call that pretty peaceful."  
  
"You're misunderstanding me on purpose. He's happy where he is. I offered him a respite and he took it. I don't think he'll be coming back."  
  
"Is he going to die?" Monica demanded.  
  
"Probably not until it's his natural time to go. But he won't wake up either."  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
He sighed again. "Because I know people. It's my…my calling. My job, if you will."  
  
"Your calling? Rendering innocent people unconscious is your calling?"  
  
"Giving unhappy people a chance at true happiness is my calling. It just so happens that they need to be unconscious for this to occur. But at no stage do I compel them to accept my offer of sanctuary. Their decision is made freely and without duress. And if at any time they request to come home, then I bring them."  
  
"Well, I guess you've got a good a shot as any of getting off on an insanity plea." Monica derided.   
  
"People always mock what they don't understand." He murmured sadly, as if he was personally disappointed in her. His attention wandered around the apartment, taking in the comfortable furniture, the various collectables, and the complete lack of any personal memorabilia or photo's. "Ahhh." He said softly, and returned his gaze to her in sympathy. She barely had time to register the change of expression before his eyes blazed a curious grey colour and bored into hers, leaving her unable to look away. She gasped in sudden pain as every single one of her thoughts and feelings and memories were suddenly sucked from her, and somehow pulled across the room to be devoured by him.  
  
"What…what did you do to me?"   
  
"I read you." He replied calmly, his eyes normal once again; except for a new sadness that she had no idea was mirrored in her own.  
  
Monica became aware of a faint humming pressing all around her, and then shrunk back as he drew himself up and seemed to fill the room. "I offer you a chance," he intoned formally, "To wipe away the hurt and misery and heartbreak, to choose the path that was somehow overgrown and shadowed in this life but that should have been yours to travel. I offer you the chance to be happy and content, safe and protected, to love and be loved. I offer this to you, unreservedly and without design, for the sole purpose of your fulfilment and growth. I offer you the chance to step from the darkest road. Choose freely, and choose well, and know that to come home all you need do is wish it."  
  
Monica listened in stupefaction, knowing instinctively that somehow, this man was telling the truth.   
"I…no. Whatever it is, it's not real."  
  
"It's more real than you could ever imagine. And I'm sorry," Geoffrey cocked his head as if listening for something only he was aware of, "I know I said that I've never compelled anybody to accept my offer, but this time I must insist."  
  
It was then that Monica became aware of the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. She raised her weapon, which had fallen to her side in the sensory assault, and redirected it at his head.   
  
"Stay where you are." She ordered as he slowly inched towards her.  
  
"I really am sorry," he was saying, "But I can't allow you to arrest me." He reached out to stroke her cheek, and to her dismay she found that she could not move a single muscle. His hands cupped either side of her head, and the last thing she felt was his cool lips on her forehead. "Remember, all you have to do is wish yourself home." And then she blacked out.  
  
XxX  
  
When she woke, she was lying in a curled ball in bed, a sheet tangled around her lower body. Her nightie was caught up underneath her, and she wriggled her hips to straighten it out. She yawned and rolled over onto her back, convinced she had just had the weirdest dream of her life. It was while she was staring at the ceiling that she realised that it wasn't *her*ceiling, and she wasn't in *her* bed. She scrambled into a sitting position, heart thumping wildly as she also realised she wasn't alone. More than a little alarmed now, she stared down at a smoothly muscled back and almost jumped when it too rolled over and presented its face to her.   
  
"John?" She gasped in confusion. "What are you doing here?"  
  
His arm draped casually around her thighs as he laid his head on her lap, kissing her through the thin sheet. "Where else would I be?"   
  
Monica's body tensed as she felt John snuggle into her side. "You gettin' up already?" he asked sleepily.  
  
"Um, yeah."  
  
"'S still early." He yawned, closing his eyes.  
  
"I… I need to get out of here." She untangled herself from John and the sheets and then stood dumbly next to the bed. She had no idea where she was, or even what was going on, but she knew she couldn't stay in the same room as a semi naked John. She looked around the room for a door, and walked unsteadily towards it, trying to keep her breathing even.  
  
"Make me some eggs?" a voice called from behind her.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Eggs. You know how I like them."  
  
"Er…fried?" she guessed.  
  
"Scrambled." John opened his eyes and peered at her. She could see his reflection in the beauty table mirror, and heard the concern in his voice. "You okay?"  
  
"I don't know what the hell is going on here." She replied unsteadily. "Yesterday we…I…"  
  
"Mon, come back here for a minute." She turned around and took the few steps back to the side of the bed. He sat up and pulled her down so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. His chin came to a rest on her shoulder, and he pressed a soft kiss into her neck. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was just bein' selfish and insensitive. 'Course you need time to yourself."  
  
"I…don't know what to say." She stammered.   
  
"Just say you'll have a good time and that you'll miss us."  
  
Us? It was definitely time she found out what was going on. She rounded on him and searched his face intently.  
"John, I don't understand anything that's happened to me since I woke up this morning. First of all, where the hell am I? And secondly, what am I doing here in bed with you?"  
  
"You're starting to scare me, Mon."  
  
"I'm starting to scare you? I have no memory of…this…" she gestured towards him and the bed, and the room in general.   
  
John breathed a sigh of relief. "We only got back yesterday, so of course you don't remember it. This is the first time you've seen it since it was done."  
  
"You're not listening to me." She cried in frustration.  
  
"I am." He soothed, rubbing circles on her back. "Listen, you're just re-adjustin' to being back home. You know how it is when you haven't slept in your own bed for a week. You wake up and you have no idea where you are. Add the fact that the room has been renovated, and we didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night, and it's no wonder you're a little confused."  
  
That sounded almost…plausible. She could almost remember a trip…   
  
"What about you then?" She asked triumphantly. "What are you doing in bed with me?"  
  
"You don't remember last night?" John prompted, and bit her neck softly when she shook her head.  
  
"Ah, to be forgotten so quickly. I guess I'll just have to remind you then." Monica felt his hand leave her back and wrap itself around her chest, pulling her weight down until she was lying on the bed with John perched over her.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked in alarm.  
  
"I'm apologisin' again, since you obviously don't remember my first one." He replied huskily, as his lips drew closer and closer to hers. "And I was so eloquent, too."   
  
"It's not necessary, John." She managed to stutter, just before his lips captured hers. And just before the door was thrust open and a small voice called out, "Mommy!"  
  
XxX  
  
"As usual, great timing." John groaned, giving her one last kiss before rolling over and looking expectantly at the dark haired child in the doorway. Monica's eyes widened in disbelief.   
  
Mommy?   
  
"What is it Stephy?"  
  
"Bella won't let me watch Sylvester." She complained. "Can I watch it in here?"   
  
"You know Saturday morning is mommy and daddy's sleep in time." John admonished, with mock severity.  
"I know daddy, but it's the one where the kangaroo escapes from the zoo. It's my all time favourite. Please can I watch?" she pleaded, and Monica was startled to see two pairs of matching blue eyes sizing each other up.  
  
"Well, I dunno. Whatta ya say, mommy?"  
  
Mommy.   
That word again.   
  
And then those blue eyes were directed at her, and she had no choice but to accede under their scrutiny. "I guess so…" she began, only to be cut off when the child threw herself on the bed and kissed her noisily in gratitude. She snuggled between them and looked at John expectantly.   
  
"What now?" he growled, but she obviously knew him better to believe the anger his tone suggested and just giggled.  
  
"The remote, daddy."  
  
"Oh, the remote. You come in here all noisy and demandin', ruinin' my sleep in, and now you want the remote as well?"  
  
"Yes please."  
  
"It'll cost you." He warned.  
  
Stephy narrowed her eyes. "How much?"  
  
"Three..no, four kisses."  
  
"Okay." She agreed quickly. "But two now, and two after the cartoons finish."   
  
"My daughter, the haggler." John smiled proudly, and accepted the kisses as his due. Monica watched this exchange in utter amazement. If she understood things correctly, this child was her daughter. Hers and John's. And she had no memory of her at all.  
  
The room was suddenly filled with the noise of Sylvester getting pummelled by the kangaroo, and she took this opportunity to rise from the bed and leave the room.  
  
"Don't forget my eggs, Mon." John called after her. As she stepped into the hallway she realised she was in John's house in Falls Church. Feeling a little better at the familiarity of the house, she made her way downstairs to be confronted by another cartoon blaring from another television. She reached the foot of the stairs and was shocked to see two more dark haired children sitting on the couch.   
  
"Bella?" she exclaimed, more loudly than she intended.  
  
"Yes, mommy?" One of the heads swivelled around to face her, and two points struck her simultaneously. One, this child had the same blue eyes as her sister, and two, apart from those eyes she was the spitting image of herself when she had been that age. Six, she guessed, seven at the most.  
  
"Uh, nothing." She mumbled, and walked past the couch and into the kitchen.   
  
Coffee. She needed coffee.  
  
As she waited for the kettle to boil she went to the fridge to take out the milk. Pictures and artwork covered the surface, and from various colourful drawings she ascertained that the third child's name was JJ.   
  
Three children.  
All hers.  
And a man upstairs in bed who was in all likelihood her husband.  
  
Monica slumped against the kitchen cupboards as her brain tried to make sense of what was happening. Only moments ago she had been in her apartment about to arrest a man for assault. Now here she was, in John's house with kids, a husband, and the start of an almighty headache. What was it Geoffrey Lindridge had said? Something about the path that should have been hers…about happiness…stepping from the darkest road, whatever the hell that was…and wasn't there something about what her life could be? Did that mean that decisions she made here would impact the life she led before? Or was this just an escape, a conglomeration of all the fantasies she'd ever had rolled into one super fantasy that she had to act her way through before being whisked back to reality? So many questions. She sucked in her breath as another thought occurred to her. Was the John upstairs her John, or was he part of this simulation? Supposing for a moment that Fantasy John was upstairs, where was Real John? And for that matter, if her body was here in this reality with Fantasy John, what would Real John he be thinking back home? Was he looking for her? Her head hurt with all the possibilities.  
  
"Mooooommmmmy."   
  
Crap. That meant her. She gingerly walked back into the lounge room, to be confronted by yet another pair of bright blue eyes. Was she destined to be haunted forever by those eyes? It was bad enough when she had one pair to contend with, now all of a sudden she had four. The boy was watching her approach with barely concealed impatience. He was about four, she guessed. And the one upstairs looked to be five. Seven, five and four. Which meant that she had been very busy for a few years, indeed.   
  
"What is it…JJ?" she asked.  
  
"Can I have my breakfast now?"  
  
"What do you say?" she asked instinctively.  
  
"Please. Can I please have my breakfast now?"  
  
She grinned as she caught Bella rolling her eyes.   
  
"What would you like?"  
  
"Cereal. With –"  
  
"Lots of milk. I know." She said, speaking the words before they'd even formed in her mind.  
  
And she did know. But how was that possible? And how was it possible that she suddenly knew what JJ stood for? That Bella was short for Isabella. That Stephaney upstairs was allergic to penicillin and walnuts. And that last night she and John had had a fight about her wanting to go away to Atlantic City for a weekend with Dana? It happened after they'd arrived home from a week in Mexico, where they'd visited her parents while waiting for their bedroom to be renovated. A…a burst main had been the just the excuse they'd been looking for to re-decorate a room that hadn't had an overhaul since she'd first moved in eight years ago – one year before they'd married.  
  
She knew all this, and more.   
  
She got the cereal from the cupboard and poured some in a bowl. She added a healthy portion of milk and called JJ to the kitchen to eat it over the table.   
  
"You want pancakes, Bella?" she called out, confident that she would indeed want her favourite food for breakfast.  
  
"Yes please, mommy." Bella appeared next to the bench. "Can I help?"  
  
"You sure can." Monica replied. "You can get the eggs out of the fridge for me if you like."  
  
"Can I break them today?" She looked at Monica with such hopefulness that she didn't have the heart to say no.   
  
A memory of teaching her how to break eggs flashed before her eyes, and she asked, "Do you remember how?"  
  
"Uh huh. No shells today, I promise."  
  
Monica laughed as she recalled the last time they'd made pancakes. Was it last week? The week before? More shell had landed in the mixture than had been left out, but Bella had been so proud of herself.   
  
"Okay sweetie, you can break them. And I'll tell you what – you do a good job and you can even break the ones for your dad's eggs."  
  
Bella raced to the fridge to bring out the eggs, while Monica took the flour from the pantry and got a mixing bowl out from under the sink. She had just measured out two cups of flour when a golden flash of energy exploded through the back door, followed by a tall, fair-haired boy of about 17.  
  
"Luke!" Bella greeted, and ran over to throw her arms around his waist.  
  
All the blood drained from Monica's face. Luke? It couldn't be. Not John's Luke.  
  
"Hey Mon." he smiled, disentangling himself from Bella's arms. "Is it okay if I borrow the car? Mine's in the shop - again."  
  
Monica stared in amazement. This man-child couldn't be Luke. Luke was six years old and dead. He was not a teenager with a licence. But then other memories flooded through her; of Christmas's and holidays spent with this boy, of watching him grow, of John and her and Barbara banding together to buy him a car for his sixteenth birthday.   
  
"Ah…you'd better ask your dad." She managed to stumble out.  
  
"He upstairs?"  
  
"He's still in bed." Bella provided, and transferred her attention JJ, who was letting the dog lick the milk out of his bowl.  
  
"Jonathon James, you stop that right this minute." Someone said, and Monica was startled to discover that it was her.  
  
"Awww, mom!"   
  
"I mean it JJ."   
  
"But Coco's hungry."  
  
"JJ –" she warned, and watched as Luke left the kitchen laughing to himself.   
  
"Jesus." She whispered under her breath. It really was Luke. Only instead of being found dead in a field, he had been…  
  
Monica frowned in concentration.   
  
Ahh, he had been found trapped under a neighbour's house. He had followed a kitten back to her mother and somehow managed to wedge his foot under a pile of debris. She cast her memory back further, needing to know how she and John had come to know each other in this reality. It was still hazy, but….there it was. She'd been called in to help find Luke, and this time she hadn't failed. But even his return hadn't been enough to save John and Barb's marriage. They'd divorced a year after.   
  
And then…  
  
…then John applied to the academy, and after he'd graduated they'd bumped into each other at Quantico. She smiled as a memory of their first date washed over her.  
  
"Mommy! The eggs?"   
  
Snapped out of these second hand memories, Monica instead focused on the task at hand and supervised the cracking of the eggs. She had just set Bella to stirring the mixture when Luke bounded back through the kitchen, and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. "He said it was okay, if you don't need it this morning."  
  
"No, it's fine."  
  
"Great. I'll have it back in a few hours."  
  
"No problem."  
  
"Oh, and he also wanted to know what was taking his eggs so damn long!"   
  
"Luke!"  
  
"His words, not mine." He retorted, jangling the car keys as he walked past them out the door.  
  
"JJ, go up and tell you father that if he wants his eggs he can come down here and ask for them nicely."   
  
JJ raced up the stairs to deliver the message, followed by Coco.   
  
"No running in the house!" Monica called after him, knowing it was to no avail.  
  
She shook her head good-naturedly. New memories were breaking to the surface of her mind with every minute she was here. As well as some new, and not so new emotions. Geoffrey said all she had to do to come home was wish it. But as she watched Bella earnestly stirring the mixture she was struck by the overwhelming desire to stay a while and explore her new life. She could always go home later. She smiled to herself at the thought of all the fun she could have with her semi naked fantasy husband. If her new memory of his apology last night was anything to go by, she was in for one hell of a ride. And besides, if it was only a fantasy world, what could it hurt? Her smile broadened - it wasn't turning out to be so bad here after all.  
  
XxX  
  
"I don't understand it. How can a normal, healthy woman suddenly fall into a coma?"   
  
"I don't know." Scully replied wearily, watching him, as he stood hunched over Monica's hospital bed.  
  
"She was just there…slumped on the floor. The officers who found her said that she'd been on the phone moments earlier, so what the hell happened?"  
  
"We'll find out John. I promise you, we'll find whoever did this to her."  
  
John dragged his eyes away from that of his comatose partner and looked up at her. "What about the suspect she was holdin'? Any news on him?"  
  
"Not at this time."  
  
"I want him found. I want him found, and I want him questioned, and then if I find out he had anything to do with her bein' like this, I'm gonna make him wish he'd never been born."  
  
"John-"  
  
"What? You can't tell me that if it was Mulder lyin' here like this you wouldn't do everythin' in your power to find the person responsible."  
  
Scully considered how best to answer him. The last thing Monica needed was for John to beat the living crap out of the one person who might be able to shed some light on what had happened. The worst part was, he was right. If it were Mulder in that bed she would be feeling the exact same way. But she also knew that she possessed one quality John didn't at this particular time. Watching him, she didn't think he held the self-restraint to stop himself from doing something stupid to the person who had hurt Monica.   
  
"You're right." She finally said. "But you need to remember this – a dead man can't answer any questions."  
  
"I just – I spoke to her this mornin' and she was fine. And now she's…" he trailed off, his eyes glossing over as all the tubes and the beeping of machines filled his senses.  
  
"She's still alive, John. That's what you need to hold on to right now."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'm going to examine the other victim. I'll let you know if I find anything."  
  
But he didn't hear her. All his attention was focused on Monica. 


	2. Away

Thanks to everyone who responded with the positive feedback. It's very much appreciated. Now, here's part two...  
  
Two days later, John sat by Ricky Bilston's bed, out of ideas, out of options, and completely stumped. Monica's neighbour had been, if not in the best of health, at least reasonably well. There was no history of illness, either physical or mental, and like Monica, nothing to account for his sudden lapse into unconsciousness. He had however, been a man on the edge, and John would not have been surprised if thoughts of suicide had been contemplated in his darkest hour. Ricky had lost his wife and two young children in a house fire five months ago, and had been in a self-destructive spiral ever since. He had moved into Monica's building seven weeks ago, bringing with him a bed, an old TV, and a running account at Bob's Discount Liquor. Although he still held his job as a chartered accountant, he had stopped turning up for work and instead drank his days away in a lonely, empty apartment. Ties with friends and family had been all but severed, and the only person he saw with any regularity was the deliveryman from Bob's.   
  
The woman who had stayed with Ricky whilst waiting for the paramedics, Brenda Grubbs, had been too hysterical to offer much help with the investigation. All she could tell them was that Monica had forced another neighbour into her apartment at gunpoint. She never saw Geoffrey Lindridge leave the building, and didn't know anything had happened to Monica until the police rushed out calling for help.   
  
John cursed this mysterious Geoffrey Lindridge, not for the first time since Monica had been admitted to hospital. He wanted to find him and hurt him. But more than that he wanted answers. He wanted to know…he needed to know that there was a way back for Monica. His mind refused to accept that she might be in that bed forever. His heart refused to accept that he'd never hear her laugh again. And his cop instinct refused to accept that they wouldn't find the bastard responsible.   
  
XxX  
  
Monica closed her eyes and expelled a contented sigh. "Mmmm, that feels wonderful."  
She was lying on the couch, her feet in John's lap after a busy day at work, and an even busier night at home.  
  
"I've got talented fingers."  
  
"You surely have." she agreed, as his hands continued applying soft pressure to her feet.   
  
"Maybe I should consider hirin' myself out to over-tired, over-worked career women."  
  
Her eyes opened and narrowed, and she prodded him in the chest with her foot."Oh no you don't. Those hands don't touch any other woman but me. Ever."  
  
"My little spitfire." He chortled, nonetheless pleased by her possessiveness.  
  
"You just behave yourself, John Doggett."  
  
"Yes ma'am."  
  
They settled into silence, only broken by the occasional moan from Monica.  
  
"Oh, right there. Yeah, that's the spot."  
  
John worked his thumbs into the arch of her foot, kneading and stroking and watching as he eased all the tension from her body. His fingers grew bolder, and began a light trek towards her ankle. When he encountered no protest he continued his journey, paying special attention to the well-defined shape of her calf muscle.  
  
"That's not my foot." Monica finally objected.  
  
"It's attached." He protested, wide eyed with innocence.  
"Hmmm."  
  
"Kids are asleep." He ventured.  
  
"They are."  
  
"So…"  
  
"So?"   
  
Monica couldn't believe it. She'd been in this world only three days and so far they'd made love four times. Once on Saturday, twice on Sunday, and once this morning in the shower, before work. She'd wondered briefly if this side of Fantasy John was in any way indicative of Real John, but quickly pushed that thought aside. She was here, she was happy, and that was all that mattered.  
  
"So I was thinkin' we could go upstairs and get down to business."  
  
"Get down to business? Way to woo me, John." She prodded him again.  
  
"It's wooing you want? Okay then." And he bent down to kiss her bare leg. His voice was low and husky as he said, "Come upstairs Mon, and I'll make you shiver."  
  
"Shivering is good." She agreed, goose pimples rising already in anticipation.  
  
"For starters…" he promised.  
  
So unable to resist, she went.  
  
And he did indeed make her shiver.   
  
And then some.  
  
XxX  
  
Monica hummed happily to herself as she rode the elevator down to the basement. Some things never change, she thought, as she descended down into abyss that housed the X-Files. Mulder and Scully were already at their desks, although work seemed to be the last thing on their minds.  
  
"Good morning." She smiled, interrupting their animated conversation.  
  
A guilty flush rose in Scully's face. "Monica…we thought it was your turn to drop the kids off today."  
  
"I wanted to come in early to finish some paperwork." She looked from one to the other, noting their apparent unease. "What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing. It's nothing."  
  
"I think we should tell her, Scully."  
  
"There's nothing to tell, Mulder. It's crazy."  
  
"Just because it's crazy, doesn't mean that she shouldn't know."  
  
"Would one of you please tell me what's going on?"  
  
Scully glared at Mulder as he chose to answer her. "We had a visit from someone last night. He came to the house."  
  
"Are you all right? Is William all right?" Monica asked, concerned that although in this reality William was a normal, healthy child, something may have spilled over from her reality when she came crashing in.  
  
"We're fine. He wasn't interested in us. He was interested in you."  
  
"Me? Why me?"  
  
"We were hoping you could tell us."  
  
"I don't know why anyone would approach you about me."  
  
"So you don't know anyone by the name of Geoffrey Lindridge?" he pressed.  
  
Monica paled.   
  
"Geoffrey Lindridge? He was here?"  
  
"So you do know him?" Scully asked.  
  
"I…I did. In another lifetime." She replied honestly. She collapsed into a chair, suddenly terrified beyond reasoning that he was coming to take her back home. She didn't want to be snatched away from her newfound happiness. Away from children who had stolen her heart. Away from friends who were happily married, with a healthy, normal son. Away from a place where alien invasions were the things of science fiction movies, and the good guys always won. Away from a John who loved her. She couldn't leave all this. She wouldn't. She belonged here.  
  
"Were you lovers?"   
  
"Mulder!" Scully rebuked.  
  
"No! Of course not." Monica protested at the same time.  
  
"Then why the interest?"  
  
"How should I know?"  
  
"Monica, if you're in trouble we can help you."  
  
"I…no one can help me." She whispered.  
  
"Does John know about this man?"  
  
"No! You can't tell John."  
  
"But he can –"  
  
"No. Mulder, promise me you won't tell John anything."  
  
"I really think that –"  
  
"Please." She begged.  
  
"We promise." Scully interjected. "As long as you promise to come to us if you find you can't handle things on your own."  
  
Monica weighed up her options. In all likelihood, she would need help at some stage. She needed to figure out a way she could stay here permanently, and it was Mulder's field of expertise.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Mulder frowned in disagreement, but accepted her decision for the time being. "He said he'd be in touch. That he had some business to take care of, and then he'd be back for your decision."  
  
"Those were his exact words? That he'd come back for me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And he specifically mentioned my decision?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Monica brightened. Chose freely, and choose well. Those had been Geoffrey's exact words. She smiled up at her friends, and laughed at their confusion. Everything was okay. She wouldn't have to leave here, and she wouldn't have to leave her family. She'd made her choice, and she wasn't going back.  
  
Xxx  
  
"Geoffrey Lindridge, you are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say can and will be used in evidence. Do you understand?"  
  
"Perfectly, Agent Doggett. Perfectly."  
  
XxX  
  
Forty minutes later in the interview room John was fast losing patience with his suspect. He was getting no information out of him except for nonsense theories that Monica was happier where she was, and that she wouldn't be thankful if he brought her back. Scully was in the room not only as the voice of reason, but to ensure John didn't give into his urges and do something drastic.  
  
"Why wouldn't she want to come back, Mr Lindridge?" she asked, playing along with his hypothesis.  
  
"Because right now she has everything she's ever wanted. What does she have here?"  
  
"She has friends and family who care for her, you son of a bitch!"  
  
"Does she, Agent Doggett? When was the last time you told her you cared? Or the last time you invited her over for nothing more than the pleasure of her company, Agent Scully?"  
  
John glared at him, all the more defensive because he had touched on a nerve. "This isn't about us. This is about you and what you did to Monica."  
  
"But of course it's about you. If not for you, I wouldn't have been able to take her."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I've said enough." Geoffrey replied, nonplussed at John's anger. "It's not my place to betray her secrets."  
  
"What the hell do you mean? Are you sayin' this is my fault?" John practically screamed.  
  
"Agent Doggett!" Scully tried to calm him. "You need to calm down and regain perspective."  
  
"I don't need to calm down. Listen, this arsehole did something to Monica, and now he's playin' games with us. He *knows* how to bring her back. And I'm not lettin' him out of this room until he tells us how he did it, and how I can get her home."  
  
Geoffrey watched this interaction with interest, paying special attention to John's slip of the tongue regarding Monica's homecoming. It wasn't, 'how *we* can get her home', it was 'how *I* can get her home, indicating stronger feelings than he had read in Monica's memories. Maybe she didn't belong where she was. She was undoubtedly happier there, at least, she had been when he looked in on her yesterday, but she had possibilities here too. Possibilities that she should be aware of, if she were to make her choice freely and wisely. Although he was loathe to think that he had made a mistake, he was beginning to feel that a grievous error had occurred. Maybe he had over reacted due to the strength of her loneliness. He sighed into his cuffed hands. He didn't like mistakes. They were messy and time consuming, and had a way of coming back to haunt you. But the truth was, he had been sloppy. The pressure of imminent discovery had meant that instead of allowing the subject to choose to go with him, he had simply taken. He had allowed self-interest to exceed his objective of the subject's fulfilment and growth. He had been blinded by the darkest road, which suddenly didn't seem so dark any more.  
  
And he had broken the cardinal rule; he hadn't taken the time to check out the facts.  
  
"This is bad." He muttered.  
  
"I'm glad to see you finally comprehend the depth of trouble you're in." John retorted sarcastically.  
  
"I'm sorry, Agent Doggett. It was an error of judgement. But the offer was made in good faith, albeit a little unorthodoxly, and I can't just rip her out without considering her wishes."  
  
"Mr. Lindridge –" Scully began, but stopped when she realised his hands were suddenly free from the cuffs and were reaching across the table for hers. They grasped hers and squeezed gently.  
  
"Sleep." He commanded, and she did.  
  
"What the hell-" John jumped from his seat with his gun drawn and pointed it at Geoffrey.  
  
"Calm down, John. May I call you John?"  
  
"Scully? Can you hear me?"   
  
Geoffrey's voice held a tinge of amusement. "Of course she can't hear you, she's asleep."  
  
"What did you do to her?"  
  
"Are you this dense all the time? She's just asleep. She'll wake when I tell her to. Really, I'm beginning to wonder what Monica sees in you."  
  
"Put your hands where I can see them." John ordered, torn between re-cuffing the suspect and getting help for Scully.  
  
"Must I go through this again? Look, I want to help you. That's all."  
  
"You can help me by un-hypnotising Agent Scully."  
  
"Hypnotism? A little trite, don't you think?"  
  
"Hands where I can see them." John said again.  
  
"Look, do you want Monica back, or not?"  
  
This got John's attention, as it was intended too. "Then sit down and listen carefully. I can't bring her back without her consent. No matter that she doesn't belong there. That's just the way it goes. But you…you can go in and convince her to come home."  
  
"An' how exactly do I do that?" John asked, not caring at that moment where she was, just that there was a possibility of her waking up.  
  
"By being honest."   
  
...to be continued... the more feedback I get, the drippier the ending will be...;) 


	3. Ties

Part 3  
  
"By being honest?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Okay. What do you want to know?"  
  
Geoffrey shook his head. "Not with me, with Monica."  
  
"Monica is in a coma. How'm I supposed to even talk to her, let alone be honest with her?"  
  
"I'll take you to her. But you'll have to be aware of some things, first."  
  
"You're gonna take me to the hospital?"  
  
"No. I'm going to take you to where she is."  
  
"To the hospital." John persisted.  
  
"That's where her *body* is. Her soul, or spirit, or whatever word you use these days to describe her life force, is elsewhere."  
  
"I see. I'm sittin' here talkin' to a crazy man."  
  
"Could you be any more obtuse? Monica is – never mind, you wouldn't believe it anyway. I'll just have to show you."  
  
"Fine. Show me."  
  
"Not here. We'd be exposed to too many people. Firstly, I'll wake Agent Scully. Then you'll have to let me go."  
  
"I'm not lettin' you go!"  
  
"Come on, John. It's not like you have a whole lot to hold me on. I could get a lawyer down here and I'd be out within minutes – you know this. But the longer we take, the longer Monica stays where she is."  
  
John weighed up his options, before finally deciding. "I'll have you released into my care. But if you try to escape…"  
  
"I won't."  
  
"…If you try to escape I *will* find you. I promise you that."  
  
The two men sized each other up, and Geoffrey was convinced that John was telling the absolute truth. He nodded, and moved across the table to clasp Scully's hands again.   
  
"I need to be touching the subject." He said as way of an explanation. "You should be sitting where you were before I put her to sleep – she won't be aware of what has transpired. Oh, you should re-cuff me, too."  
  
John leant over and slipped the cuffs back on him. "Now what?" he asked.  
  
"Now I wake her." He took a hold of Scully's hands, and spoke one word. "Wake."  
  
Her eyes flickered open, and she frowned in puzzlement as she noted Geoffrey's hands cuffed and sitting motionless in front of him. The frown deepened as she snatched her hands back and held them close to her body.   
  
"I think we're done here." John said. "It's obvious he's not goin' ta tell us anythin' worthwhile. He's just wastin' our time."  
  
Scully glared at the suspect and uttered a terse, "Fine." - knowing something was wrong, but not quite being able to put her finger on it.  
  
"Get up." John ordered brusquely. He marched Geoffrey towards custody, leaving a bewildered Scully sitting in the interview room, trying to make sense of the ten-minute time discrepancy she had just noticed.  
  
XxX  
  
"Mo –ooom!"  
  
Monica looked up from the book she was reading to see what the latest crisis was. The three kids, John and Coco were digging peacefully in the sand pit, making castles with semi-filled moats and generally keeping out of her hair. Well, they had been. Bella was standing indignantly with her hands on her hips, scowling down at JJ and Stephy, and Monica was half expecting smoke to come pouring from her ears at any minute.  
  
"What is it, Bella?" She asked, repressing a grin.  
  
She stormed through the yard and sat down with such force on the love seat Monica was sitting on that the entire frame shuddered.   
  
"Snails." She spat disgustedly.  
  
"Snails?"  
  
"And worms. JJ keeps putting them on the castle, and they're *disgusting*."  
  
"Well honey, he's just playing."  
  
"He's touching the slimy bits mom! Then he puts them on my knee, and they feel yuk. And dad keeps telling a horrible story about worms, and that's disgusting too!"  
  
"JJ – leave the snails alone and stop annoying your sister." Monica called out, knowing how much Bella hated slimy garden creatures.  
  
"He won't listen. He does it when dad isn't looking, and he even tried to put one in my hair!"   
  
Monica hoisted herself out of the love seat. "C'mon Bella. Let's go have a talk to your brother." They walked hand in hand down to the furtherest end of the yard. "Are boys yucky all the time, mommy?"  
  
"Not all the time, sweetie. Sometimes they can be quite nice." She answered, shooting a conspiratorial grin at John.  
  
"John, control your son, would you."   
  
"I'm tryin', but I think he's gettin' a bit of outside help." He motioned towards the innocent looking Stephy. "Every time I turn my head, this one lets him know."  
  
"Stephaney, are you helping your brother annoy Bella?"  
  
"No, mommy."  
  
"Stephaney." That tone she had perfected so well crept into her voice. The tone that told the kids, and John too, that she wasn't going to tolerate any nonsense.  
  
"Well, just a little bit."  
  
"You know Bella doesn't like snails."  
  
"Yes mommy."  
  
"Don't you think it's a bit mean to put them on her then?"  
  
"Yes mommy."  
  
"What do you think you should do?"  
  
Stephy turned to face her sister. She knew when the game was up. "Sorry Bella."  
  
"JJ?"  
  
JJ also managed a mumbled apology.   
  
"As for you," Monica began, resting her hand on the back of John's neck and letting her fingers tangle through the wisps of hair, "what kind of stories have you been telling?"  
  
"Aw, nothin' really. Just something I used to do to my sister when I was a kid."  
  
"And what was that?"  
  
"C'mon kids, I think that's enough diggin' for today." John said, rising and brushing the sand from his legs.   
  
"John, what have you been telling my children?" Monica demanded.  
  
He ignored her, knowing he was going to be in trouble if she found out exactly what kind of stories he'd been telling. "You wanna play with the ball, Coco? Here boy, get the ball." And he threw a tennis ball across the yard, which was promptly chased by Coco and the kids.  
  
"John!"  
  
"Just a bit of fun, Mon. Nothin' to worry about."  
  
"Then why am I so con –"  
  
"Because you're a worry wort." He interrupted, grabbing her by the waist and drawing her close for an open mouthed kiss.   
  
"But I love you anyway."  
  
"It's a good thing you're so cute, John Doggett, or else I'd be mad at you for getting sand all over my clean pants."  
  
"I guess it's a very good thing, then." He said, rubbing his nose against hers in a series of sweet angel kisses.   
  
XxX  
  
"So what happens now?" John asked Geoffrey Lindridge. They were in his lounge room, and John was watching him expectantly.  
  
"First, I need to tell you a little bit about myself in order for you to understand where Monica is where she is."  
  
"Okay. Talk."  
  
"Her body is lying in a hospital bed. Her brain activity is normal – she could stay like that indefinitely. But her…" he trailed off, searching for the correct terminology. "Spirit…yes, an adequate word in this case. I've noticed that Monica is a very spirited woman. She has the most amazing aura…anyway, her spirit is with me."  
  
"With you?" John looked around the room purposefully. "Where?"  
  
"I carry her with me. In here." He tapped the side of his head. "This is where I carry all my charges."  
  
Geoffrey met John's icy stare with one of his own.   
  
"Monica is in your head. I see. She's just walking around in there, is she?"  
  
"You don't believe me. But you will. And if you're hold any hope of bringing Monica back you'd better listen, and listen good. Because you'll need to offer her more than vague intimations of a future relationship. She's going to need something a lot more substantial from you to even consider coming back."  
  
"You make it sound like she has a choice."  
  
"Of course she has a choice, I told you this before. I don't take people just for the hell of it. I see a need, and I offer a haven. Most of my charges settle happily into their new life – but then most of them have nothing to come back too. Monica does. You need to convince her of this."  
  
"She knows what she has here."  
  
"No, John, she doesn't. And you'd better hurry up and figure it out yourself. There is a time limit on these things."  
  
"Is she in any danger?" John asked, concern flooding his eyes.  
  
"Not physically. Not even mentally. But she's been there for almost a week now, and the ties that bind her are strong. She won't leave them easily."  
  
"So what are we waitin' for? Let's go."  
  
"There's one more thing I should tell you…"  
  
"You can tell me on the way."  
  
"You realise that I'll be taking you into me?"  
  
"So you said." John retorted, impatience making him terse. He still didn't believe all this mumbo jumbo, but he had to at least check it out. For Monica.  
  
"I'll take you to her." Geoffrey whispered.  
  
"Just like that?"  
  
"Just like that."  
  
And just like that, when Geoffrey reached out to clasp John's hand, the whole world lurched.   
  
XxX  
  
When everything stopped spinning, he found himself standing outside his house. "How'd you do that?" he gasped.  
  
"I could take the time to explain it to you, but you wouldn't understand. Now, before we go in I have to tell you that last thing."  
  
"Spit it out –" His attention was suddenly diverted to shadows moving behind the windows. "There's someone in my house." He said quietly, reaching for his gun as he purposely ascended the steps.   
  
"John, no! Wait a minute."  
  
John ignored him and burst through the door, colliding with some sort of display unit/bookcase thing that he'd never seen before. His head caught the side of the offending piece of furniture, and exploded in a sea of stars and swirly lights. He winced, and became aware of a figure bending over him, cradling his pounding head in its lap and stroking the side of his face.  
  
"John? Are you okay?"  
  
Monica?   
  
"John! Can you hear me?"  
  
"Monica? Is it really you?"  
  
"Of course it's me." She replied, smiling down at him. "How hard did you hit your head?"  
  
"I – oww, pretty damn hard, I think." he said, trying to sit up.  
  
"Come over to the couch. I'll ring Dana – you might have a concussion."  
  
"It's not that bad." He said, sitting down gingerly. "I'm made of pretty stern stuff."  
  
"I *know* that, silly. Come over to the couch and sit down for a minute then."  
  
She grabbed his arm and led him to the couch. She sat down next to him and looked in his eyes for any sign of concussion. "Are you dizzy? Nauseous?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"What are you doing back so soon? Did you forget your wallet?"  
  
"No, I –" His words were lost as she gently kissed his forehead and smiled a smile that he'd never seen from her before. He grabbed her hand and twined their fingers together. "Tell me it's really you and that I'm not experiencin' some sort of hallucinatory delusion."  
  
"I'm starting to worry now, John. Maybe we should forget about Dana and just bundle up the kids and drive over to the ER ourselves."  
  
"I just need to know that I'm not dreamin' – did you say kids?"  
  
Monica was saved from having to answer, with the appearance of JJ trying to creep up the stairs. John gasped in surprise, while Monica groaned good-naturedly. She knew he was up to something, she just had to figure out what.  
  
"Hold it right there, mister. Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"Upstairs." A small voice called back.  
  
"Come here please." JJ shuffled into the lounge room.  
  
"What have you got in your hands?"  
  
"Nothin'."  
  
"Jonathon James Doggett, don't you lie to me."  
  
"Aww mom."  
  
"Spill it."  
  
"I was just going to play a trick on Stephy. Like daddy used to play on Aunt Lesley – from the story he told us in the sand pit."  
  
"What exactly did you tell them, John?"  
  
"I – I don't –" He was confused, not sure if this was real or just a figment of his imagination. Geoffrey said he'd take him to Monica, but since when was Monica a mother?  
  
"He used to put worms in her bed, mommy. He told us Aunt Lesley used to scream real loud, and it was really funny."  
  
"You told your son that? Knowing what he's like, knowing that he'd just have to try it himself, you…" She shook her head in resignation. "You're lucky we caught him now, you know. Can you imagine the ruckus if he'd have put them in Bella's bed?"  
  
Son? Monica thought he was the father of her son?   
  
"I wasn't going to put them in Bella's bed," JJ protested. "Just Stephy's. She's not scared of worms."  
  
"That's not the point, JJ. I want you to turn around and put those worms back in the sand pit, do you understand me?"  
  
"Yes mom."  
  
"And then I want you to go upstairs and get ready for your bath. I'll be up in a minute."  
  
"Yes mom."  
  
"This is your fault, John." She said, watching the forlorn figure of JJ trudging through the house, his fun spoiled. "No wonder you were hiding it from me earlier. Worms! I hope Lesley at least managed to pay you back."  
  
"Yeah, she did. Would you believe that for two weeks straight I thought I was wetting the bed because she was pouring glasses of water in after I'd fallen asleep?" He chuckled at the memory.   
  
"I don't think we need to be telling Stephy that, do you? Or Bella. We don't want them to get any ideas."  
  
"How did he know about what I did to Lesley?" John asked, suddenly even more confused than ever.  
  
"You told him. You told them all earlier this evening."  
  
"But that's not possible. I just got here."  
  
Monica started reaching for the phone. "That's it. I'll call Dana over to watch the kids, and then I'm taking you to emergency."  
  
"Monica, stop. There's nothing wrong with me. But there's something seriously wrong with you – with this whole situation. It's not right."  
  
Monica's frowned in suspicion. He sounded so much like Real John at that moment, that it wasn't funny. And then she paled, and her eyes widened in shock at the appearance of Geoffrey Lindridge.  
  
"There's nothing wrong, Agent Doggett. This is where she could belong. If you let her." 


	4. Choices

She stared at Geoffrey, heart thumping wildly. "So I guess you're here for my decision." She said, and was thankful that her voice at least sounded calm and strong.  
  
"Yes. But there is something you need to be aware of in order to choose correctly."  
  
"There's no need. I've already chosen."  
  
"I see. Well, I'm sorry, but I can't honour that choice until you hear what this man has to say."  
  
"There's nothing he can possibly say that will change my mind. I belong here. With my husband and my children."  
  
"Monica," John said gently. "This isn't real. Don't you see that? You don't have children."  
  
"No? Then who was that standing in front of us not five minutes ago with worms in his hands? That was my son, John. *My* son. And my daughters are upstairs playing as well. You want me to call them all down here so that you can tell them that they're not real?"  
  
"I saw him, Mon. I did. But he didn't exist a week ago. None of this did. This is just an elaborate fantasy world that was created for you by this man to get you out of the way."  
  
"Actually, he did." Geoffrey interjected.   
  
John turned to him exasperatedly. "Did what?"  
  
"Exist. JJ, Bella and Stephy all existed last week. They have for years. Not in the form they're in now, but believe me, they didn't just suddenly come to fruition because I willed it."  
  
"What the hell are you talkin' about?"  
  
"Possibilities. It's all about possibilities. When I read someone, I not only read their feelings and emotions, I also read their past, their present, and their future."  
  
"But the future hasn't happened yet."  
  
"Exactly. When I read someone's future…I see millions upon millions of tendrils stemming from that exact moment, each tendril calculating every single outcome of every single decision or occurrence or random interaction that could ever happen. Of all the possible futures Monica could have, I knew that this one would make her the happiest. So in the exact moment I took her from the darkest road, this world was born."  
  
"What the hell is this darkest road crap?" John asked. "And what gives you the right to take people away from those who love and care for them?"  
  
"It's life. It's struggle and pain and sadness. . . the people I take have no one left to love them. Ricky Bilston was drinking himself to death in that lonely apartment, eaten up by guilt and remorse and self-hatred. With me, he's happy again – his family is alive, his children are healthy, and he doesn't have nightmares about charred skin or wake up screaming anymore."  
  
"So that's why you were able to take me." Monica whispered. "Because no one. . .but they do here. And I'm not leaving."  
  
"Didn't you just hear him? Supposin' for even a second that what he says is true, possibilities aren't reality. They're just 'maybes' and 'mights' veiled within gossamer theories. This. Isn't. Real."  
  
"It's real enough for me."  
  
"Monica –"  
  
"My children are real." Monica stubbornly refuted. "And my husband is real, and this house is real. . .even Coco is real, and you're not taking that away from me."  
  
"Don't you want to see those possibilities eventuate?" Geoffrey broke in.  
  
Monica's eyes clouded as she glanced at John. "I know this would never eventuate out there. I know that as truth as sure as I know my name. And you know it too, or else you wouldn't have been able to take me."  
  
"I thought it was true when I took you, yes. But then, I was also acting out of self-interest at that particular time. I didn't have all the facts."  
  
"What facts?" Monica asked bitterly. "There are no facts. My darkest road wasn't filled with grief or despair, but it was lonely. I just didn't realise how lonely until I came here."  
  
John reached for her hand again. "You had me, Mon."  
  
She snatched it back. "No, I didn't. I had work and whale songs and satellite TV. That was the grand total of my life. I *matter* here, John. You don't know how important it is to just *matter*."  
  
"You mattered to me." John cleared his throat. "You *matter* to me."  
  
Monica looked away. "It's not the same – and you," she glared at Geoffrey. "I didn't even know I wanted this until you gave it to me. I have memories now. I remember being pregnant. I remember giving birth. I remember. . . I remember getting married. You can't expect me to give it all up."  
  
"If you went back to the real world, you wouldn't remember any of this. It wouldn't exist anymore. There would be only possibilities."  
  
"So you not only take away my life, you take away my memories and kill my children as well?"  
  
"You couldn't live a normal life if you were constantly thinking about the one you gave up. And your children wouldn't be dead, because they've never really lived. "  
  
"Well, I won't be forgetting anything, because I made my choice. You said to choose freely, and choose well, and I have. I'm staying."  
  
"I'm not gonna let you stay here, Mon." John said grimly.  
  
"You have no say in it."  
  
"I'll drag you out of here kickin' and screamin' if I have to." He promised.  
  
"You can't do that." She appealed to Geoffrey. "Can he do that?"  
  
"It's never been done before…but there's always a first time for everything, I suppose."  
  
Monica thought quickly. She knew she only had to mention that Luke was alive here, and John would change his mind about dragging her out. He wouldn't be responsible for killing him, she knew that without a doubt. Or killing the possibility of him. But as swiftly as that thought occurred, it was dismissed. She could never use his love for his son against him like that. Even if it meant going back. She closed her eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks.   
  
"I'm happy here, John. Why can't you let me be?" She said softly.  
  
Because I'm miserable without you. Monica, look at me." She opened her eyes. "I swear to you that I'll try my damndest to make sure you're just as happy back home. Those kids - they're *our* possibilities, aren't they?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I want to make sure they eventuate, Mon. I want them to exist - for real, not just in this plastic paradise. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."  
  
"Do you realise what that means, John? It means that for them to live, really live, that you and I have to –"  
  
"I know what it means." He said softly.   
  
She studied him sharply and then sighed in resignation. "Ah John. It doesn't matter. None of it does, because you won't even remember this when you leave."  
  
He moved closer to her, and this time when he took her hand she didn't try to take it away. "I'll remember how I feel about you. I'll remember how I've been goin' out of my mind ever since you went away. I'll remember sittin' by your hospital bed, holdin' you hand and promisin' you anythin' if you'll just open your eyes. Do you know that your body is in a coma? Do you know that your hospital room is filled with balloons and flowers, and that people are comin' by every day to see if there's any change? Do you know how much you are missed? Do you have any idea," he stopped and brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing the softest of kisses into her skin. "how much I miss you?"  
  
Her tears that had earlier been kept in check escaped their flimsy prison, and fell freely. "Do you have any idea what you're asking me to give up?"  
  
"I'm not asking you to give up anything. As I understand it, everything here is a possibility of what could be. I'm just asking you to take a chance and trust that I want the same things that you do."  
  
"What do you want, John?"  
  
"You really need to ask?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I want you. I want a home, and a family, and yeah, even a dog, with you."  
  
"I – I don't know if I can let them go."  
  
"Ahem, if I may?" Geoffrey had been following the conversation with great interest. "You wouldn't really be letting them go. You'd be preparing the road until it was time for them to join you again."  
  
Monica thought this over. "If we won't remember any of this, how can you be sure that we'll follow the path that leads us back to them? Won't things go back to how they were?"  
  
"To some degree. But you'll find that you can no longer keep the feelings you have for one another in check. And then. . .well, then things will get really interesting."  
  
John squeezed her hand. "Come back to me?"  
  
She smiled. Life with Fantasy John had been amazing, but now she wanted the real thing. Family, love, life. . . she wanted it all. "Yes."  
  
XxX  
  
John awoke with a start, surprised to find that he was alone. He was sitting on his couch, but there was no sign of Monica, and more importantly, no Geoffrey.  
  
"Shit!" he muttered under his breath, cursing himself for letting a suspect escape. "Of all the stupid, insane, incompetent . . ." He reached for his phone, intending to call Scully to give her the bad news, but as soon as he dialled her number the reason for his call slipped his mind.  
  
"Scully." She answered.  
  
"Dana, it's John. I. . ."  
  
"John? Is everything okay? How's Monica?"  
  
"Monica?" Monica was just here. Wasn't she? He tried to remember, sure that there was something he was missing, but his head hurt, and he couldn't concentrate long enough to recall what it was. "There's no change. She's still. . ."  
There was silence from the other end of the phone. "Was there something you needed, John?"  
  
"Uh. . .yeah. . .no." He gingerly touched the side of his head, surprised to find a tender spot with a small lump in the centre. But beyond his initial surprise, it didn't occur to him to wonder how he came to acquire injury. "I – I'm just on my way to the hospital. But before I go, I was wonderin' if we could question the suspect again, maybe get him to. . ." His voice trailed off. Get him to what? Damn head – it seemed like every time he tried to concentrate on Geoffrey it ached with renewed intensity.  
  
"We released him, remember. We can't get past his lawyer now."  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
"Are you sure you're alright?"  
  
"I just have a headache, that's all."  
  
"Well, it's understandable. You've been under a lot of pressure this past week."  
  
"No more than anyone else tryin' to figure out what's goin' on."  
  
"It's a little more involved than that, John. Not everyone has the same feelings for Monica that you do."  
  
John started to protest, but felt it die on his lips. Why bother to deny it? It was true, and he was tired of hiding it. "I'll talk to you later." He said instead, and disconnected the call. His need to get to the hospital to see Monica was almost a compulsion. He grabbed his coat and keys, and once he was in the car and driving towards her, he realised his head had stopped throbbing.  
  
XxX  
  
The first thing Monica realised when she opened her eyes was that she wasn't in her apartment anymore. The smells and sounds that surrounded her were familiar in a reassuring kind of way. She'd spent enough time in hospitals to know when she was in one. The second thing, after this fact was revealed and filed, was that she wasn't alone. Someone was holding her hand and murmuring her name, and when she looked up she noticed the trail of freshly shed tears lining an exhausted but jubilant face. And the third thing, and perhaps the most surprising, was that the only other time she had seen this person cry was regarding his son.   
  
"Hey," she said softly. "Enough of that. I'm fine."  
  
John smiled down at her through his tears. "Yes," he replied with a choke in his voice. "You are."  
  
XxX  
  
Two weeks later they were walking contentedly back to the car from lunch. Monica had been kept in hospital for a further seven days, undergoing all sorts of tests to try to determine what had caused her sudden loss of consciousness. After all the tests had come back negative, she had persuaded the doctors that there was no reason for her to be there anymore, and she'd been released. She'd been under strict instructions to take it easy though, and as such she hadn't yet returned to work. For the past week John had taken to stopping by at different times of the day, bringing her meals and books and magazines, all under the pretence of checking up on her. Feeling housebound she'd suggested they go out to eat, and he'd readily complied. Now, full from lunch and in no particular hurry to be anywhere, they were strolling along lazily and looking in the shop windows they passed.  
  
"Oh John, look. A pet shop. Let's go in."  
  
"You thinkin' about getting' a pet?" he asked.  
  
"Not particularly. I just like looking."  
  
She grabbed his hand and led him inside the shop. Once inside she didn't let go, but instead let her fingers thread with his in what was at once a comfortable yet thrilling contact. They ambled around the shop, 'oohing' and 'aahing' over the rabbits, guinea pigs, and all things fluffy, whistled to the birds and watched the indifference of the reptiles with fascination. They came to the part of the shop that housed the puppies, and John grinned in indulgence as Monica went into raptures.  
  
"Aren't they adorable? I love puppies."  
  
"Really? I never would have noticed." He teased.  
  
"Behave yourself, mister." She ordered, with a good-natured elbow to the ribs. She pointed to a chocolate coloured Labrador.  
  
"Look at that one."   
  
The puppy in question was standing on his hind legs, reaching for Monica's fingers that were poking through the chicken wire on the top of the cage. His tail was wagging furiously, and John couldn't help but laugh at his exuberance.   
  
"He'd be a handful."  
  
"If I only had a yard. . ." She sighed. "Let's get out of here before I do something rash."  
  
John noticed her disappointment, and before he knew what he was doing he'd blurted out, "I have a yard."  
  
Monica's eyes flashed from the puppy to John, and back to the puppy again. "I couldn't get a dog only to keep him at your place. It wouldn't be fair on you. And besides," she said with regrets, "He'd see so much of you that he wouldn't know me."   
  
"We could get him together." John offered.   
  
"Like co-owners?"  
  
"Why not? We spend most of our time together anyway. It wouldn't be so bad if we spent some of that time at my house, would it?"  
  
Monica smiled. "No, it wouldn't be so bad at all."  
  
"And if that time happened include to the odd dinner or two. . ." He pressed on. "Maybe a movie. . . or dancing . . ."  
  
"Maybe even a sleepover?" Monica added.  
  
John beamed at her. "Yeah, a sleepover. . . I think I could live with that."  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Well then."  
  
"Well then." She echoed.  
  
"I guess we're gettin a dog."  
  
"I guess we are."  
  
They stood there smiling at each other until the sales assistant came over and broke the mood. "Can I help you?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah." John replied. "We'd like to buy a dog."  
  
XxX  
  
"So now we have to think of a name." John winced and unfolded his legs, and shifted so that he was leaning against the couch with his legs stretched before him.  
  
They were sitting on the floor of his lounge room, watching the pup as he ran around the room chasing imaginary targets and generally doing what puppies do best – having fun.   
  
"I thought of the perfect name while we were in the shop." Monica said, and repositioned herself so that she settled comfortably against John's chest. His arms wrapped around her middle and came to a rest in her lap.   
  
"And what might that be?"  
  
"Well . . . you might not like it. But don't dismiss it out of hand. Just think about it for a little while."  
  
"What is it, Mon?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"Promise you won't dismiss it?"  
  
"Okay, I promise."   
  
She twisted her head so that she could gauge his reaction. "Coco."  
  
He burst out laughing, but trailed off when he realised that she wasn't laughing with him. "Oh. You're serious."  
  
"C'mon John. Please?"  
  
"Why Coco?"   
  
"I don't know – it just seems to fit him."  
  
"Kind of a poncy name for a boy dog, isn't it?" John asked sceptically.  
  
"Can you think of anything better?" she challenged him.  
  
The puppy pranced over to them and climbed into Monica's lap. He wriggled in her arms and yapped happily, his little body quivering with excitement.   
  
"Mon, it's going to be really embarrassing when he gets loose in the park. I don't want to be yelling out 'Coco' at the top of my voice. All the other dog owners will laugh at me."  
  
"I'm still waiting for your suggestion."  
  
John sighed. Coco did seem to suit him, and he wasn't really that adverse to the name. Monica had seemed to expect him to put up a fight though, and who was he to spoil her fun? "Okay. Fine. Coco it is. But you're walkin' him."  
  
She squealed with delight. "We'll walk him together." She said firmly, as Coco spotted something more interesting to chase across the other side of the room and took off in pursuit.  
  
They watched his antics for some time, before John said, "I think gettin a dog is the best thing that ever happened to me."  
  
Monica nodded in agreement. "I think it's the best thing that ever happened to you, too."   
  
"Minx." John retorted, and let his laughter mingle with hers as he began tickling her ribs mercilessly.   
  
And from somewhere up above, three possibilities looked down on them. Waiting.  
  
End 


End file.
